


Labour Pain

by Grania



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Graphic Language, Road Trip, unrealistic depiction of labour probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grania/pseuds/Grania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally is looking for Lestrade. And the murderer of an unknown man in Chiswick.<br/>Mary is looking for John. And in labour.<br/>Molly is under no circumstances reaching into Mary's fanny.<br/>Mrs. Hudson does not have actual business, she just likes to tag along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Usually Sally was one flippant shrug from a subordinate away from throwing her desk out of the window when Molly arrived at the office around lunch. It was nothing that could not be soothed with pastry, and anyway, the rage was never meant for Molly, thus it did not bother her.  
Today she was too late.  
Pale-faced constables with watery eyes stumbled through the hallways, some almost into Molly, and flinched at every loud noise.  
She held the bag with pastry higher against her chest, like a shield, and prepared for the worst as she walked into the cubicle farm.  
There was always a reason for Sally’s mood to drop, and today that reason sat on a chair in front of her desk, red-faced and a bit bloated, with shoes that could at best be described as “sensible”, and a gigantic ball the size of Pluto under her blouse.  
At first Molly wondered whether Mary was expecting twins. Then she remembered that the last pregnant woman in her life had been Mrs. Richardson in sixth grade, and that her references from memory might be a bit skewed. Also she tended to hide from pregnant women. Something about a living organism growing to such size inside a woman’s body, inside her own body, potentially, scared the hell out of her.

“I wouldn’t ask if it was not important”, Mary hissed. It was so docile and unlike the woman Molly knew that she was immediately worried. Something must be wrong.

“And I wouldn’t decline if it was not important”, Sally answered through clenched teeth, and typed so furiously on her computer that Molly feared the keyboard might break.  
“I told you Lestrade hired them, and he sent them on their merry way, so you better take your complain to him. And frankly, you have some nerve to come here!”

“You’re working on the same case! And I can’t reach him either.”

“The way I see it I’m the only one working this case”, Sally snarled.

It was time for Molly to intervene.  
“Hello!” she announced with her brightest smile, and waved the hand with the bag. “Hello, Mary. How about you join us for lunch?”  
Sally glared unspoken threats at her. She looked funny when she was worked up.

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Thank you, Molly, but not today. I’m looking for John. They’re working another case.”  
Molly cocked her head, and blinked at Sally, the unmistakable sign that she should slow down.  
Sally took a deep breath, gently shoved the keyboard away, and turned to Mary.

“As I have already said, Sherlock and John have left to follow a lead…” The parentheses around the word “lead” must have been audible from two desks away. “…and I don’t know where they went. As you know well they always tell me everything, and never do anything that could interfere with the official investigation.”

“Sally!”, Molly warned.

“Also, I never have to clean up their messes, and they make sure that I always know what’s going on when I get called to one of their grand finales where they explain what we did wrong. Yes, I don’t say it often, but they truly are my two best friends. But unfortunately, today they forgot to let me in on their plans.”

Both Molly and Mary glared at her. For a moment Sally’s anger wavered.  
“I’ll call you as soon as I know”, she eventually added, and pulled her keyboard back.

For a moment the only thing that moved were Sally’s fingers. Then Mary awkwardly, and without another word, rose from the chair.  
Molly wanted to say something, but nothing came to her mind. Instead she stomped on Sally’s feet that were splayed under the desk. Sally did not have time to react, because at that moment a soft noise came from the door, something between a cough and a wheeze. 

“Oh no”, Sally groaned, and followed Molly, who was already at Mary’s side.

She tried to shrug her off, and dug in her purse for a tissue. “I’m fine”, she grumbled through her tears.

“What’s going on?”, Molly asked softly.

“What’s going on is that I haven’t been able to sleep for more than three hours for the last two weeks,” she answered, and with every word her voice grew louder, “that my moods are playing games with me, that I have to pee all the bloody time, that my back aches no matter in what position I am, and that I want to have lunch with my husband! Is that too much to ask?”

“So…you’re not having your baby yet?”, Sally asked, and the colour returned to her face.

Before Mary had a chance to answer, still loudly, someone stepped into their little circle.

“Oh dear, what is happening here?”

Sally’s face dropped a mile, while Molly beamed, and whirled around.  
“Mrs. Hudson!”

“Hello you four”, she said with her usual smile. She wore her grey coat, and carried a plastic bag in addition to her usual purse. “How are you, Mary? Is it the hormones?”  
She did not see, or heed, the great danger in which she put her hand when she patted Mary’s stomach. 

Sally cleared her throat to take control over that unfortunate meeting.  
“How can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m looking for Sherlock. He searched for his magnifying glass for hours before he finally gave up and left without. Well, I’ve found it when I cleaned out the kitchen this morning, and I thought I’d bring it. He might need it.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where he went”, Sally explained. “He and John…”

“Oh, I know where he went”, Mrs. Hudson threw in. “It’s just that I don’t want to ride the tube out to New Cross just for a little magnifying glass, and I thought maybe one of your detectives might catch up with him today.”

The three women blinked at Mrs. Hudson.

“They went to Millwall?”, Mary asked.

“To Millwall?”, Sally echoed. Molly had only a faint idea what the case was about, Anderson was still hogging the body, but she knew that the murder had been nowhere close to the south.

Mary’s lips started to quiver again. “I can’t walk that far!”

“Don’t worry!”, Molly said, and a second later cursed herself. She did not like to see other people cry, and when they did, her brain somehow short-circuited. She stared helplessly at Sally, who was no help at all.  
She searched for words. “I mean, they’re obviously following a new lead…and that means that it is important for the case…and maybe you could catch a ride with Sally.”

Sally’s mouth dropped open.

“I mean, you will want to know what’s going on with the case, right, Sally? And it would only be…convenient… to take Mary with you.”

Sally did not answer, not that there was any choice left to her, and let Molly wallow in her awkwardness for a little while.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t really important to me”, Mary hiccupped.

In the end the four of them piled into a police car, and drove off to the south of London. Four because while Mrs. Hudson hated the tube she loved to be where the fun was, and no force in London could stop her from participating. And a police car because Sally’s nerves were much too frazzled to be able to bear London’s traffic in a plainclothes car.  
Not that there was much chance to witness vehicular atrocities at the moment, they were locked in the usual traffic jam.  
She munched on her pastry while she battled the avalanche of cars around her, and tried to understand how exactly she had managed to get into this situation.  
From time to time Mrs. Hudson chattered something, but only Molly was polite enough to answer, and the conversation luckily never took off. It was only logical that the light would change to red just as they came to the intersection at Westminster Bridge.  
Sally tapped her fingers on the wheel when Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth again.

“Have you eaten today, dear?”

Both Molly and Sally turned around in their seats. Mary tried to wave them off, but she could not hide the paleness, and the tremor in her hand.

“Are you collapsing?”, Sally asked. “Do you need some sugar?”

Mary clearly wanted to answer something like “No, thanks”, or “Would you look on the bloody road?”, but before she had a chance to say anything, her eyes widened, and when she opened her mouth all that came out was a soft, guttural moan that lasted half an eternity.

The light turned to green. The cars behind them started to honk, first shortly, impatiently, then longer, until Mary’s moans were drowned under them.  
The car remained on its spot, though, until the light turned red again, and Sally and Molly were still turned around in their seats, and Mrs. Hudson was still pressed against the door, leaving as much space between her and Mary as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

“Change the lane! You have to change the lane now!”, Molly yelled. She was jumping up and down in her seat, pointing to St. Thomas’ Hospital on the other side of the river, and threw another glance over her shoulder, as if the baby might fall out of Mary any second.   
Sally cursed.   
Even with the siren on top of the car blasting they had no chance of turning right now. Molly was still yelling in her ear. She had never seen her so panicked.

“Guys!”, Mary tried.

Finally one car stopped long enough for her to sidle into the lane, and she sped over the bridge.

“Hold on!” Sally shouted.

“Guys!”

“Thank God these police cars have washable seats”, Mrs. Hudson remarked.

“Do you see a sign for the emergency room? I can’t see a sign!”, Molly shrieked. “Hurry!”

Sally set the blinker, and cut in front of another car. They were almost at the intersection to the hospital, and if they did not see a sign for the emergency room, it was because they were still too far away.  
Eventually Molly saw it.  
“There! Right! Turn right again!”

“If you turn right I will shoot every last one of you and drive that car myself!” Mary yelled in Sally’s back.

She stomped on the brakes so hard both Mary and Mrs. Hudson smashed against the front seats, and Molly got thrown over the dashboard, and only did not hit her head on the window because Sally pulled her back with an iron grip.  
Without another word, and with the car half on the street, half on the pavement, Sally threw Molly back into the seat, jumped out of the car, tore open the back door, and aimed her gun at Mary.

“You have a gun?”, she asked.

“Sally, what the hell!” Molly shrieked.

Mary smiled, all calm friendliness again. “Thank you.”   
She tried to climb out of the car, though it proved to be quite difficult without any help, and Sally sure as hell was not going to give any.

“You have a gun?”, she repeated, and kept a safe distance to Mary when she finally emerged. “Drop your bag!”

Mary rolled her eyes. “It’s just the things for the hospital.”

“Drop it!”

Mary frowned, but eventually complied. “Can I explain?”

The first bystanders noticed their presence. Sally opened the bag, gun still aimed at Mary, and rummaged through the pockets.  
“You can be glad if you don’t have to give birth with your hands and feet shackled to the bed”, she snarled when she produced a small gun from a hidden compartment at the bottom. 

Mary was clearly vexed that she had found it. “Please bring me to John. Please!”  
There was that pleading tone again, the same she had tried at the office, and that had worked like a charm on Molly.

“Turn around and put your hands on the car!”

“What?”

“Sally!”, Molly yelled again from her seat where she had observed the spectacle.

Sally ignored her, and lowered her voice. “I know who you are. Just because there is no evidence doesn’t mean you’re not guilty.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open.

“What? Do you think Sherlock could project your face onto an entire house without waking anyone’s interest? I’ve done some research on my own.”

“What is going on?”, Molly asked, and stepped out.

In the time she needed to walk around the car, Mary was crying again. This time it was Sally’s turn to roll her eyes.  
“It doesn't work on me!”

“Sally, what have you done?” Molly exclaimed. “Come on, we have to go to the hospital. It’s okay, Mary.”

“It’s not okay!”, Mary sobbed. “I’m bloody angry! I don’t know why I always start crying, but I’m bloody angry!”

“Hormones”, Mrs. Hudson threw in from the depths of the car.

“It’s just the beginning of the contractions! My water hasn’t even broken yet. You will bring me to New Cross!” Mary said to Sally. “John and I will go to the hospital, with all the little clothes and little hats we bought, and he will hold my hand, he will breathe with me, and we will be like a normal couple. Just a bloody normal couple that expects their first bloody child!”

Sally blinked at her. Even Molly did not know what to answer to that.  
Then Sally’s phone rang. She cried out in frustration when she saw the number.

“It’s Lestrade’s case!”, she shouted into the phone.

“You’re working it too,” Morton answered. She could see him splayed out in his chair, with a game of Cwazy Cupcakes opened on the computer. “And boy is your guy on a roll!”

“Don’t want to know. Call Lestrade!”

“Yeah, can’t reach him. Anyway, we just got a call that he threw a tantrum in the Museum of London and then ran off with his short pal. You better hurry!”

“Fuck you!”

“Love you too, dear.”

He did not even allow her the pleasure of hanging up first.

“You know where he is!”, Mary said. Tears were still glittering in her lashes.

“I can’t take you with me!”, Sally shrieked. “What if something happened?”

Mary’s eyes hardened. “Nothing will happen. There’s still enough time. But I guarantee you if you leave me alone at the hospital, your career will be over.”

Molly simply blinked, and tried in vain to follow their discussion.  
Sally felt like screaming. She thought for a moment, then waved with her gun.   
“I want every weapon!”

Mary glared at her. “I don’t have…”

“If I don’t have all your weapons in my left hand within the next five seconds I will search your whole body, including your dilated cervix.”

“Ew!” It had come from Molly, and she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Sorry.”

Mary continued to glare for a little longer, but eventually complied. Thus Sally ended up with another gun, and two knives, both with blades so illegal she had to battle the urge to arrest Mary all over again.  
There was a sizable crowd gawking after them when they drove off again, not towards the hospital.

“Shouldn’t we maybe stay on this side of the river?”, Molly asked when they drove back over the bridge.

“They were seen at the Museum of London,” Sally answered.

“That’s not in New Cross”, Mrs. Hudson threw in.

“Can’t we go straight there?”, Mary asked. “They can’t be at the museum anymore.”

“No, we can’t, and yes, they aren’t.”

No one talked for the reminder of the drive, though Mary breathed heavily while Sally was looking for a place to park the car.

“Sixteen minutes”, she remarked.

“Don’t. Count. The. Time. Between. My. Contractions!”, Mary wheezed.

Sally ignored her, and turned to Molly: “When does it get serious?”

Molly shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I tried not to listen too closely in the lectures.”

Sally stared at her, not knowing whether she was joking.  
“Why?”, she eventually managed.

“Because it’s gross!”, Molly exclaimed.

“You fondle dead bodies every day, dear”, Mrs. Hudson threw in, and for once Sally agreed with her.

Molly looked at them with wide open eyes, and a look that told that they did not understand. “Yeah, and one day, when I’ll be dead, I won’t care anymore if someone fondles my body. But I could get pregnant…potentially. Something like that,” she pointed at Mary, “could grow inside my body. All that pain and blood loss could be mine! I’ve had enough mothers on my table to know what happens to a woman’s body during childbirth! Do you know what happens if your fanny’s not stretchy enough? You rip like an overstuffed paper bag, that’s what happens! I don’t want anything like that anywhere near me!”

“Could I have one of my guns back? Please?” Mary asked after a moment of silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Sally stuffed both guns, as well as the knives, in her bag. It was not made to hold so many heavy things, and with a sigh she emptied the original content in the space between the seats to make room.

“Wait here!”, she ordered into the rearview mirror to Mary and Mrs. Hudson.

“You come with me!”, she said to Molly, and got out of the car.

It was impossible to miss Sherlock’s work in the Museum.  
Sally wondered whether he had trashed only the lobby, or also the exhibition rooms.  
She braced herself for the inevitable outburst that came as soon as she introduced herself.

“When I called the police they told me he works for you!” the senior desk clerk yelled in her face. He must have belonged to the group who had tried to contain Sherlock, because his suit was rumpled, and his tie was askew.

She glared at him, and he took a step back. It had taken her years to learn it. Too long she used to smile when they yelled at her, tried to sooth them into compliance.

“I apologise for your inconveniences.” 

The trick to cleaning up Sherlock’s messes was to sound like the voices from the loudspeakers on train stations.

“I assure you this will have consequences for our consultant. Of course we will do our best to recompense you. Now,” she fished her notebook out of the bag, and tried to keep the arsenal of weapons hidden in its depths, “please tell me exactly what happened.”

On Sally’s unofficial Sherlock-Scale it was barely a three, and she had to remind herself not to be too impatient with the clerk as he recollected the story, and left no doubt that he thought this was the worst thing that had ever happened to the museum.  
“So, the flyers, the flyer holders, the bins, the front desk, and the vases…what kind of vases?”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Like, Ming vases? Greek amphores?”

“Glass vases!”, he exclaimed. “From Ikea! On the desk!”

She took a deep breath. “So not from the exhibition?”

The clerk paced up and down, over the scattered leaflets, shards and trampled flowers, and the signs that once pointed the directions to the toilets.   
“He didn’t get into the exhibition, but not for lack of trying! Heavens, imagine what he could have done to…” The thought was too terrible for him to finish it.

“And what caused the…outburst?”

He ran up to her again. “Nothing! I just told you, he just came in, looked around for a few seconds, and then just started smashing things. I’ll show you the security cameras as soon as we have the files. Oh God, when the director hears this!”   
He started to pace again.

“And what did the other do?”

“What other?” the clerk asked.

“Wasn’t he in the company of another man, smaller, dark blond hair?”

“No!” the clerk exclaimed. “Why in all…there’s two of them?”

“Why would Sherlock come alone?”, Molly asked in Sally’s back, and with a start she realised that she had been behind her all along.   
Maybe she should have taken the risk to lose Molly to Mary’s wrath rather than bring her in, because her one soft question ruined every hope Sally had had. 

The clerk laughed.  
“Oh, that was the famous Sherlock Holmes? Of course, it all makes sense now! You’re here to protect him! You don’t want to help us. Just wait until the director hears of this!”

“Shut up!”, Sally snapped, and with a look of utter shock, the clerk closed his mouth. “I’m not here to protect him.”   
She tried to think what Sherlock might have been up to.

“Did you see where he ran?”

“No! Listen, do we have to wait for…I don’t know, crime scene investigators?”

Sally bit back a snort. “No, you can clean it up.”

She looked around the room, and read the leaflets on the floor. Something occurred to her.  
“Was there anything else out of the ordinary? Before Sher…the consultant…came?”

The clerk sighed, and picked one of the leaflets she had examined. It advertised an exhibition of a sculptor whose name Sally had never heard before.  
“Last Saturday, actually. Someone stole a bust of Edward of Cheltern. He was the third son of Lord…never mind. But it is one of Gaetano’s finer works.”

“Okay, that’s good. I can work with that. Do you know the name of the police officer who took your statement? It would make my work quite a bit easier.”

“We didn’t call the police.”

She looked up from her notepad.

The clerk pointed to the entrance to the exhibition. “You see, the thief didn’t take the original, only a cheap replica. It was right next to that door. It wasn’t even a good replica. The curator wanted a sign to point the direction, and they had to drill a hole into the lower half to attach it.”

It made no sense at all.

“When did you realise the theft?”

“Late Saturday evening. It was the opening, actually, and there was a reception. About 200 people were invited, and 500 tickets more were sold. We just thought it was a dare of a drunk… don’t tell me Sherlock Holmes wanted the bust too.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” She stuffed paper and pen back into her bag, and handed him her card. “Call me if there’s trouble with the insurance.”

As they left the museum, a squadron of cleaners with their carts arrived, and went to work, closely guarded and hindered by the clerk.

“So, how do we find him now?”, Molly asked as they walked back to the car.

“My guess is Morton will call any second now”, Sally answered. “And don’t interrupt me ever again during an interrogation!”

“Sorry”, Molly grumbled. She looked back over her shoulder. “Do you know what he wanted with the bust?”

Sally shook her head. She did not know.   
The only thing she knew was that there had been a bust, cheap plaster, smashed to dust close to this morning’s murder victim in Chiswick.  
She checked her watch when they came back to the car, and, as expected, Mary was already panting again.

“Not one word!” she grunted from the back seat.   
Mrs. Hudson had offered her hand to squeeze during the contractions, and if her look was any indication, Mary had quite a strong grip.

Molly observed them fearfully. “Where now?” she asked Sally without taking her eyes off the back seat.

Sally did not know. She debated whether it would be wiser to return to Chiswick, and find out about the bust, or continue the journey to the docks.  
In the end she was relieved by Morton.

“Where did he riot now?”

Morton chuckled. “Nowhere that I know of. But there’s a woman down in Nunhead who just called the police. Apparently there are two strange men loitering around in the street. She describes them as, and I’m quoting here, both not too tall, one dark haired, well-dressed, who dug through the bins and climbed over walls, and another, blonde, shirt and jeans, and not happy about what his pal was doing.”

In the back seat, Mrs. Hudson let go a sigh of relief, and tenderly examined her crushed hand.

“Hey, Sal, what did he do in the museum?”

She did not have the nerves for his dumb jokes, and stuffed the phone back into her bag.

She looked at Molly. “Tell me you listened in the lectures when they told how long contractions can last before things get really ugly.”

Molly eyed her from the side. “A bit. It depends on many things, the mother’s physique, the baby’s health and development, whether she’s had children before, the stress level of both mother and baby…”

“Physically fit mother, healthy full-term baby according to the doctor, first child, and pretty fucking stressed,” Mary counted, “Now tell me how long I still have!”

Molly opened her mouth. Her eyes darted between Sally and Mary.  
“Everything from two hours to three days, I’d say. But I’m not sure”, she hurried to add, just as Sally started the car with a curt nod, and Mary let out a short cry.

“Three days?”


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Thompson of Nunhead was waiting for them in her garden, and waved with her walking sticks as soon as Sally turned into the quaint street.   
She was even older than Mrs. Hudson, and not too well on her feet anymore.

“Thank you for coming, officer. I do not know what to make of this. When I called the police they put me through, and then the nice man at the other end told me you knew those burglars!”

Sally did not even know where to begin.

“I kept hiding behind my Chinese Willow over there. I think they knew someone was watching them, and they hailed a cab, and dashed off. A cab! I have never seen such impertinent burglars in my life!”

“Have you seen many?”

Mrs. Thompson frowned. At least it gave Sally time to dig for her notepad again.  
“Please start from the beginning. From which end of the street did they come, and which house did they try to enter?”

The old woman opened her mouth, and when she closed it again after what felt like two years, Sally knew the habits of her current and all her former dogs, the daily routine of every neighbour in the street, when her husband had died and why, the secret to a healthy and strong Chinese Willow, and which brand of oats made the best porridge.

“And you heard them say that they wanted to go to the docks?”

“Well, I only heard the word “docks” from the taller one, and then the smaller one said something that sounded very angry, but he followed him into the cab.”

“And the men were only interested in house number 8?”

“Yes. The Williamses live there.”

“The accountant and the librarian”, Sally hurried to add before she would have to listen to it again.

“Exactly those. Nice people, both of them. A bit reclusive, but nice.”

It was difficult to think with Mrs. Thompson talking without break, and Sally needed a while to bring order into her thoughts.  
“Do you know whether they have a bust somewhere in the house?”

Mrs. Thompson had changed the subject twice over since Sally had checked out, and needed a while until she understood the question.  
“What? The Williamses? Well, yes, they do own a bust of a young man. They only bought it a few weeks ago, and put it in the garden. But it's gone now. They must have taken it inside. Do you think the burglars wanted that bust?”

Sally crossed the street, and peeked over the stone wall into the garden of house number 8. All curtains were closed, and the house seemed cold and abandoned.   
There was a shed in the garden, old and withered, and covered in last autumn’s fallen leaves. The lock, a weak model, not even stainless, had been broken, and was dangling uselessly from the latch.   
Something told her it had not been Sherlock who had destroyed it.

“They are not home, officer,” Mrs. Thompson said in her back. She was only halfway out of her own garden, and before she could step out onto the street, Sally hurried back to her and met her two steps outside her garden gate.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Thompson. You’ve helped us a lot.”

Mrs. Thompson blinked up at her. “You’re already leaving again?”

“I still need to find the consu…men.”

Mrs. Thompson could not argue with that, though her frail shoulders slumped even more than they already did.  
Sally tried to ignore it, not that she was successful, and closed her notepad. The street was silent, nowhere seemed there to be any life in the houses.  
With a soft sigh she fished another one of her cards out of her bag, and handed it over. She was aware that it was a bigger risk than handing it to the Russian mob.  
“If you ever need help, call me.”

With a happy beam Mrs. Thompson took the card. “Thank you, officer. It helps to feel safe, knowing that you look out for us. London, especially…”

Suddenly her eyes darted away from Sally. Something behind Sally seemed to confuse her.

“Is that woman in labour?”

Sally flinched, and turned around. Mary had somehow managed to get out of the car again, and was walking on the pavement, supported on each side by Molly and Mrs. Hudson.  
“What are you doing?”, Sally yelled, and ran off, then looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Thompson. Have a nice day!  
”  
Something cold dropped in her stomach when she saw Mary. She was pale, and sweat pearls lined her entire forehead.  
Molly looked at her with utter desperation.

“That’s it!”, Sally said! “We’re going back!”

“Do you know where they went?” Mary asked. She tried to glare at Sally, but another contraction shook her.

“We are going to the hospital!” Sally repeated, emphasising each word. She checked her watch again. “You’re down to two contractions in twenty minutes! Isn't it wrong that you’re water hasn’t burst yet!”

“As if you knew when that should happen,” Mary panted. The contraction had passed, and with all her will she managed to stand up straight, and shook off Molly and Mrs. Hudson.  
“Do you know where they went?” she asked again.

“To the docks. And I promise you that I will drag John to your bedside as fast as I can, but first I will drop you off! St. Barts or St. Thomas?”

Sally opened the back door, and signed Mary to hop in again. Of course she refused.

“I will not reach any hospital unless John’s with me!”

Sally felt like shaking Mary, if only it would have helped.   
Or not have been illegal and immoral.

“What if we continued until Mary’s water breaks?” Mrs. Hudson asked into the ensuing silence as Mary kept glaring at Sally, and Sally kept trying to calm herself down enough to be able to talk.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Molly said, and added: “And I’m saying this with all the responsibility I carry as the only doctor in this group.”

Sally glared at her friend. “So you’d be willing to kneel down on the pavement, and grab into Mary’s fanny to take the baby out, while I would direct the traffic, and Mrs. Hudson would hold Mary’s hand?”

Molly paled, so fast Sally feared she might faint.

“Leave my fanny and hands alone”, Mary snarled, then looked Sally in the eyes.

Sally had no problems to meet her, but of course she lost again.

She threw up her arms. “But only until your water breaks! If I even get the feeling that your trousers might be a bit moist, it will be off to the hospital!”

Mary smiled. “Of course.”


	5. Chapter 5

The drive to the docks happened in almost silence, interrupted only by Mary’s struggle not to articulate her pain, and Mrs. Hudson and Molly soothing her with kind words, which only seemed to have the opposite effect.  
Sally went over the facts of the case in her head.   
This morning they had been called to a body in Chiswick. Next to it had been plaster, smashed to dust and small pieces, with no trace left as to what it could have been in its original state.   
The freak had come, pranced around, belittled everyone, and flounced off after ten minutes without any help. But somehow he had found out what the plaster had been, and that there were copies of that bust all over London.  
A few hours later he had made a scene in the museum, and left after he had found out that the thing he had been looking for was gone. She did not understand why he had to start a brawl, though.   
He could have just asked.  
Another bust had been stolen from Nunhead, and a fourth one must evidently be somewhere in the docks, though she had no idea how Sherlock had found that out.  
She wondered whether the burglary in Nunhead had come before or after the murder. Mrs. Thompson had said nothing about a second intruder, but if it had happened today, it would have been around dawn.   
Too dark for an old woman with weak eyes.  
There were so many questions, and she wished she could just go back to the office, read the first report from the crime scene unit, maybe find out who the victim was, and continue from there.

At a red light she grabbed her phone, and called Morton again.

“Miss me?”

She felt like hanging up again. “No. Is there any news about something happening at the docks?”

“Not exactly about what’s happening, no. But Lestrade is down there.”

“You reached Lestrade?”

“Nah, he called, and wanted you. I told him you’re on your merry way. Apparently he and the other two had a little row with another guy, and he fell into the river, phone and all. He sounded very happy that you were on your way, and hopes that you will arrive soon.”

“And you didn’t fucking call me?”, Sally snarled.

Morton laughed. “Calm down, Sal. It was only two minutes ago. You didn’t even leave me enough time to put down the phone, and pick it up again. Maybe you can read minds. Can you read minds, Sal?”

The light turned green, and Sally threw the phone back into her bag.

“Good news,” she said into the rearview mirror to Mary. “John fell into the river, and his phone drowned. That’s why you can’t reach him.”

“So good,” Mary managed through thinly pressed lips.

It was not difficult to find them at the dock, all they had to do was go in the opposite direction of where everyone was running.  
Sally slowly curved around the halls, looking left and right for any trace of Lestrade. With one hand she steered the car, with the other she unhinged the safety on her holster. Molly followed Sally’s hand with her eyes.

“Maybe we should stop.”

Before Sally could agree with her they crossed another intersection, and came face to face with what seemed to be the end of a long chase.   
She put the car in reverse, and turned back around the corner.

“Wait here!”, she ordered, and ran off.

The man Lestrade, Sherlock, and John had been chasing stood with her back to her as she peeped around the corner. He had a gun in his hand, and waved it around. He seemed at his wit’s end, and utterly desperate.

“So you did your time in prison, and you didn’t tell anyone where you’d put the stone”, Sherlock said in that moment.

“Shut up!”, the man hollered.

Sally must have just come at the right moment for his grande finale, even though it was a bit marred by the fact that all three of them were unarmed, and there was no way they could subdue the man.   
Lestrade and John were dripping wet, and their shoes left traces on the pavement.

“You didn’t trust your friends,” Sherlock continued. “And quite right so. I wouldn’t have either. But when you were released, and went back to the dock, you found the most terrible thing.”

“Shut your bloody mouth, wanker! I’ll shoot all of you! Not one step closer!”

“Someone had sold them. Those stupid, unimportant busts that no one ever wanted! Someone had sold them! You couldn’t have known about the upcoming exhibition at the museum, that would have brought Gaetano, the great sculptor, back into the public’s view. So you had to hunt them down, every last one of them!”

He talked faster now, more pressing, and the three of them worked to keep his entire attention on them.   
One step after the other, Sally snuck closer.

“But then there was something else you didn’t know. Giacomo had found out that it was you who had stolen the stone. You escaped him for a year, but he was patient, just as you, and taken by surprise after your return, just as you. When he found out that you were hunting down the busts he tried to stop you, and sent Stefano. He didn’t stand a chance!”

“You’re right!” the man laughed, with an edge of mania in his voice. “I killed him. And I will kill you!”

“No, you won’t!” Sally said. The man whirled around, and scurried back until he was cornered by the four of them, and the hall behind him. 

“Put the gun down!” Sally ordered, and took aim at his head. He was still flailing his gun, and she was positive that she would be faster than him should he try anything.

“About time, detective,” Lestrade quipped. “Put the gun down, Emiliano!”

Sally snorted. “I’m sorry, boss! I accidentally lost my phone, and couldn’t reach you anymore. Oh, wait, that wasn’t me, that was you!”

“I didn’t lose my phone,” Lestrade said. “It’s still in the same pocket where I put it this morning.”

“Shut up!” Emiliano hollered. “Shut up!”

“I agree,” John muttered.

“You don’t say one word!” Sally hissed at him. “I’ve had nothing but trouble today because of you!”

All four of them frowned at Sally.

“Me?” John asked.

Sally really should have foreseen what happened next.   
She should have locked the door.  
No, she should have locked the door and left it in the entrance to the emergency room of St. Thomas.

“Sally, we really should be going,” Mrs. Hudson said, and stepped around the corner.  
She was too stunned, like Lestrade, Sherlock, and John, only for the fraction of a second, but it was enough.

A shot hit the ground somewhere, thanks to Emiliano’s unsteady hand, but before she could retaliate he jumped and knocked her down. She did not let go of her gun, though it gave him free access to her face, which he took without hesitating, and he got two good swings at her that knocked the air out of her and made her nose crunch before someone tore him off.

It was a short struggle once Lestrade and John had gathered their forces, and soon Emiliano was laying next to Sally, with his arms pinned on his back.

Sally blinked, and blinding pain shot through her nose, and the back of her head.  
“Mrs. Hudson!” she groaned.

She could only see her feet from her position.

“I’m sorry, Sally, but you said we would go to the hospital as soon as…”

She could not talk further. Another gun got off, this time around the corner.

“John Watson!” Mary screamed, too close to Sally’s liking.   
She had gotten out of the car again.  
When she stopped next to Mrs. Hudson Sally realised that her trousers were as wet as John’s and Lestrade’s.   
A third pair of shoes appeared too.   
Molly.

“You will come right now!” Mary screamed on, then, as if someone had kicked her legs, folded together, and only Molly’s swift reaction prevented her from hitting the ground.   
The gun fell out of her hand.

“Shit!” Sally cursed, and jumped up, ignoring the pain, and the dizziness that made the world spin around.

“Oh my God!” John said flatly, and ran to Mary.

“You know how you wanted to know when things get really ugly?” Molly asked Sally. She was pale as a ghost, though steady and calm as only a doctor could be. Mary groaned, and tears streamed down her cheeks.  
“Don’t push, Mary! Not yet!” Molly said, and forced her to uncurl, and lean against Molly’s legs.

Sally wiped the blood off her mouth, and unloaded the gun Mary had dropped. “Yes?”

“We’re about two contractions away from really ugly.”

“Mile End Hospital,” Lestrade said, and left Emiliano on the ground, with his hands shackled on his back.  
He and John carried Mary back to the car.

“Can you drive?” he asked Sally.

She threw him her phone. “Of course. You tidy up here, boss! And don’t throw it into the water!”

Molly and John piled into the back of the car to Mary, and Mrs. Hudson took over the front seat, Sally started the siren, and raced off.

Only when she was stopping with shrieking brakes in front of the hospital did she realise that she had not seen or heard one word of Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. Hudson and Molly sat with Sally as she got her nose patched together in the emergency room, though no one was too invested, not even Sally herself.

Released of the pressure of maybe having to assist in her worst nightmare, Molly was once again a nervous wreck, and shivered the entire way from the emergency room to the maternity ward.   
Together with Sally and all the blood on her blouse and face, and Mrs. Hudson nervously bouncing all over the place, it was a wonder the nurses did not kick them out.

They waited another hour, during which Lestrade dragged in Sherlock by the feet.  
They heard them long before they arrived in the waiting room.

“He’s your best friend! Damn it, Sherlock!”

“I don’t want to intrude. You don’t…”

They appeared around the corner.  
“Maternity ward phobia?” Sally asked. “Self-help group is over there.” She pointed at Molly, who was biting her nails down to bloody stumps.

Sherlock glared at her, and plopped down in a chair.

It was not five minutes later, Lestrade had barely wrapped up the story for Sally, when one of the doors down the hallway opened, and John stepped out.  
In his arms he carried a carefully wrapped bundle of white blankets, and he smiled, as free and honest as Sally had never seen before.

“Oh my god,” Molly breathed when a tiny, pink arm appeared from under the blanket. John straightened the edge with his free hand, and tiny, pink fingers wrapped around his thumb as far as they could reach.

Sally kicked Sherlock.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson slowly walked towards John, and peeped down on the blanket.

Sally kicked Sherlock again.

In the end it needed a friendly shove from Lestrade, and a long look from John to bring him close.   
He was deathly pale.

Sally let them coo over the baby, and snuck around their little gathering towards the room. It was only mid-afternoon, but the curtains were closed, and the light was dim and soft.  
The bed was close to the window, and an empty crib on wheels was parked at the foot.  
Mary smiled when she recognized Sally. They had not been apart for more than two hours, but Mary looked years older, deep shadows had appeared under her eyes, and her hair was stringy and dishevelled.

“I thought I had distracted you enough for some peace and quiet.”

Sally stepped next to the bed.  
“Congratulations.”

Sally watched her as she moved to find a more comfortable position. Even though the door was open it was utterly silent.  
Suddenly Mary pointed at her clothes on a chair under the window.  
“Jacket pocket,” she said. Sally walked over, and dug through them.  
She found it in the left front pocket, a twenty-penny-piece, with a clear hole in it.

Sally smiled, and peeped through the hole to Mary. “I knew it was yours!”

Mary cocked her head. “And I thought it fell out accidentally when you emptied your bag.”

Sally shrugged, and stepped to the foot of the bed. Neither of them was smiling anymore.

“Where did you find it?” 

“Drug bust at Sherlock’s. I was sure he couldn’t shoot that straight! Not many can.”

They looked at each other, really looked, for the first time.

“You don’t know who I am,” Mary eventually concluded.

Again Sally shrugged. “I have a theory.”

Something changed in Mary, though barely visible. Her look hardened ever so little, and her fingers straightened, and dug through the blanket.  
“I owe you,” she said, “but don’t go down that road!”

Sally frowned. “Too late.”

“Mary!” It came from Molly.

Both she and Mrs. Hudson appeared in the door, without either baby or the other man. The spell was broken, and Mary turned her head. Her smile and her tiredness seemed unchanged.   
Sally slipped the coin into her own pocket.

“Congratulations!” Molly laughed, and hugged Mary. “She has a beautiful head form for a vaginal birth.”

“She’s wonderful!” Mrs. Hudson agreed.

Mary laughed, though it was cut short by a pained groan.  
“Mustn't laugh yet." 

She looked at them. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Sally answered.

“How are you?” Molly asked.

“Tired”, Mary smiled. “And like I’m missing something.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “That might continue for a while. I don’t think Sherlock is ready to let go of her yet.”

Sally stepped behind her and Molly, and put her hands on their shoulders.  
“We’ll rescue her. Take care!”

“Call me if you need something!” Molly added, and Mrs. Hudson: 

“I hope to see you two in Baker Street soon.”

Mary waved after them as Sally softly steered the other two to the door.  
“Thank you, for everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.


End file.
